


Surprise

by problematick



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, that's all this is, this is just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-14 22:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8032195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/problematick/pseuds/problematick
Summary: It doesn't happen often, but Miranda Priestly is capable of experiencing surprise. So of course, she finds it memorable.(A ficlet inspired by the look on Miranda's face when Andy corrects her on that fateful first day.)





	Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at about 2am back in January of 2013, and originally posted it to my [tumblr](http://problematick.tumblr.com/post/40325838808) underneath a gifset of the scene to which I refer. Thought I'd port it over here for posterity's sake. Hope you enjoy.

“You surprised me, you know,” Miranda says.

“Hmm,” Andy murmurs back, brows furrowing slightly, a sort of question mark tacked on to the end of the inquiring noise. (Andy does a better job than 99% of the world at understanding what Miranda is talking about on a daily basis, but sometimes even she’s lost.)

“That first day,” Miranda continues, almost as if Andy hadn’t responded at all, rubbing finger over her pursed lips as she had in past times of serious contemplation (coincidentally always involving Andrea). “When you told me, ‘actually it’s Andy.’ Like I would call you something so common when you have such a lovely name,” Miranda nearly chuckles, reaching for the silky brown locks and stroking her fingers through them. “You do like the way I say your name, don’t you, Andrea?”

And a smile forms on a full red mouth, followed quickly by an assenting, “I do, yes."

"It took me utterly by surprise. You may recall the look I gave you.”

“Which one, the one with all the shark teeth bared at me before you struck like a great white, or the one full of contemptuous disdain at my shoes?”

“I believe that’s an oxymoron, but they were absolutely horrid. I mean the one before those, being taken aback. I recall it must have existed for at least a few moments since you kept blathering on about what everyone called you, as if I were everyone, as if I would deign to do as the masses.”

“Mm. That one. Not particularly. My memory of that whole day is mostly terrified paralysis and cerulean, thanks.”

“You were so woefully undereducated, then. Goodness, I’d nearly forgotten. You were helplessly incompetent, weren’t you?”

“Does this story have a happy ending for me or do you delight in bringing up a time when I was little more than a petrified chihuahua in your presence and blatantly denying to myself that you were the most beautiful, albeit vicious, woman I’d ever met?”

“The point is,” Miranda continues, with that slight little hitch in her voice that belies an edge of irritation, “that no one,” she pauses a moment, and her voice shifts to its very softest, which either means danger or tenderness, “no one had corrected me in eight years.”

Andy lifts her head from Miranda’s chest, half rolls so that she’s propped on one elbow and can look her in the eyes when she asks, “Really?”

“No one who didn’t make at least a million more than me a year, anyway.”

The slew of helpless snort-giggles Andy collapses into is apparently not what Miranda had been going for. She rolls her eyes with great theatrics and arches a perfectly shaped brow down at the woman snickering into the stomach of her silk nightgown. “Are you quite finished?"

After a last muffled snort, Andy answers, "Wasn’t an oxymoron.”

It’s Miranda’s turn to make a “hmm” sound, complete with matching frown.

Andy lifts her head again, wiping at an eye, her lips stretched into that grin that lingers on her face for several minutes after she’s found something intensely amusing. (Miranda will never admit it is number four on her all-time favorite Andrea smiles list.) “My description about my first day shoes. An oxymoron is contradictory. I was guilty of overstatement, at most, just then. ”

“Not possible, those things were wretched.” Andy receives a sudden, sharp look. “You didn’t bring them when you moved in, did you?”

Andy stifles another cackle by biting on her bottom lip firmly and closing her eyes for a moment. “No, Miranda,” she says patiently. “They didn’t survive longer than the trip home on the subway. I stuffed them in the garbage chute of my building when I got to my floor."

"Wonderful,” Miranda replies, at once placated by the thought of the loafers’ demise.

After a few moments wherein Miranda smiles quietly at the idea of the offending shoes in question being buried beneath metric tons of garbage or perhaps even (hopefully) lit on fire instead, and Andy smiles quietly at Miranda and the look on her face, Andy assumes her original position nestled against Miranda’s chest. Andy’s hand falls to Miranda’s hip and Miranda’s hand falls to Andy’s hair before Andy finally says, “Miranda?”

“Yes?”

“Can we go to bed now?"

And when Andy peeks up she sees her number one all-time favorite Miranda smile. "I suppose we can."

Andy turns out the light, but doesn’t return her hands to quite the same places as before.

There’s a moment, and then, "Oh, Andrea. You do continue to surprise me.”


End file.
